Simply Irresistible
by NCDavis
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth, and when you're dealing with a stubborn human female and an even more stubborn Saiyan ... Oy! Yup, another Bulma and Vegeta story set in those three years. Complete.
1. The Big Bang

Simply Irresistible  
By NCDavis

Disclaimer: I don't own DragonBall Z or its characters. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and is a small homage to Toriyama-san and Bulma/Vegeta fans. My power level is infinitesimally small. Please don't blast me.

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"Hmm, which one shall it be. Passion Plum? Or maybe the Racy Rendezvous."

Bulma sat on her bed, her foot propped up on the edge. She'd treated herself to a "pamper me" day. A long soak in a hot bubble bath came first, and now her favorite part. Pedicure. Still wrapped up cozy in her bathrobe, her turquoise-blue hair pulled back from her face, she was deep in negotiations with the array of nail colors before her. The decision was critical. After all, it was sandal weather. The wrong choice, and a girl could clash with half her wardrobe. "Of course," she giggled to herself, "I could just get a new wardrobe."

She picked a bottle from the tray and started the delicate process of applying polish to nail. She navigated the length next to the cuticle, a perfect coat almost done . . . .

_BOOOOOOM!_

Her bedroom was suddenly in a game of fruit-basket turnover, pictures flying off the walls, bottles rattling, pillows tumbling off the bed along with Bulma, who noticed as she righted herself, that she now had a cuticle and a couple of toes striped in Candy Apple Cutie. "What in the world!" Realization dawned in one word.

Vegeta.

Grabbing at clothes now in a heap by her closet, she barely registered what she threw on. She raced down the stairs, out towards a wave of smoke billowing from where Vegeta's ship-turned-gravity training room normally stood. It was deja vu all over again. The last time the ship blew. The last time she went running towards a smoke cloud, trying to ignore her scared, pounding heart. The last time that damn fool Saiyan almost got himself killed.

----------

The training bots surrounded him. They were going to fire. _Must fire first._ But hard as he tried, he couldn't raise his arm to aim. The buildup of power glowed around him. _No. I am a Saiyan. I cannot be beaten by machines. I cannot—_

"N—Aaaaah!" Pain slammed Vegeta to his back as he woke. As the wave subsided, he noted the floor felt more like a mattress, and the yellow walls were very flat and very square. This was not his ship.

"So," a female voice sounded in the room, "you've decided to return to the land of the living."

He turned his head. Just as he feared. The blue-haired one. The blonde was amazingly silly, but at least she showed him the proper respect.

"Bah. What a stupid statement. As you can plainly see, I've never left."

She came to stand over him, arms crossed over her chest. "If you could've seen yourself when we pulled your limp carcass out of the rubble, you wouldn't be so sure."

He forced himself to sit up, gritting back the pain. He would not be spoken to this way, at least not while vulnerable on his back. "Surely you've learned by now, Woman, that no mere explosion will kill me. Now, get out of my way. I need to get back to my training."

"WHAT? Hel-lo, what part of getting half crushed did you not understand?" She dared to push him back down on the bed. Of course, she succeeded only because he let her. "Vegeta, you can't keep pushing yourself like this. Or our equipment for that matter. You may not survive another blast."

The situation did seem a bit more grave than the last time, but he'd be damned if he'd let her know that. "If I am seriously injured -- and I'm not saying that I am--"

"You don't have to. Your face says it all."

He growled, "Don't interrupt me, Woman. As I was saying, if I am so injured, it's your father's fault."

That stunned her for a moment. She dropped her arms stiff by her sides, clinching her fists. "How dare you blame my father for your accidents. In what twisted Saiyan reasoning is this his fault."

"It makes perfect sense. If your father's product wasn't so inferior, it would withstand the training of a superior warrior such as myself. Granted, for a human his skills are far better than others of his kind, but still leave much to be desired."

Waves of her fury crashed over him. He had to admit, he enjoyed goading her. She glared at him, her blue eyes glittering with anger. Then he watched, fascinated, as a cold, slow smile spread across her face.

"Nevertheless, Saiyan," she spat the word, "my inferior father is the only person who can help you achieve what you want most in this world. To beat Goku. Excuse me, your precious Kakarrot. So I suggest you behave yourself. Lie there and don't cause any fuss. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll let my father rebuild the gravity room."

"You will let--"

"You heard me pal. And don't think threats will do any good. Fulfill them, and all you will have done is defeated your own ends.

"Besides, training hurt will only delay your progress. Heal first. Gravity room second."

Damn. She was right, and he hated it. He wouldn't give up though. "What could you know. I've seen your idea of training. Stuffing ice cream in your face!"

Too late. She knew she had the upper hand. She waved away his insult. "Get comfy prince," she tossed over her shoulder as she left, "you're going to be there for awhile."

Infernal woman! He let loose an energy blast which dented and singed the wall. Normally it would have barreled through, leaving a nice, wide hole. He let himself relax into the mattress, his adrenaline-rush temper spent. Damn he was weak.

The little Earth woman amazed him. She could show the usual weakness of her kind in one minute, then burn with an intensity a Saiyan female would envy the next. And when she did . . . . Vegeta grinned. When she did, she was glorious. The way her sky-blue eyes darkened to the hue of the sea. The way her breasts rose and fell in her indignity.

Under different circumstances he'd enjoy taming her, but he had more important concerns than rutting some female. Becoming a Super Saiyan. Surpassing Kakarrot. Making sure he, an elite warrior, was the one who got the glory in beating these supposed androids who were on the way. These bothersome delays in his training would not do. The explosions he could handle. The scientist was fairly efficient in rebuilding. But these lags in healing were unacceptable. If only he knew where Kakarrot got those senzu beans. Not that he would ask. There was no way he'd let that third class foot soldier see him like this.

Then it hit him. The idea was so simple. Why hadn't he come up with it before? Hmph, must be that harpy female. Her babbling could addle anyone's wits. If he could remember all the components, he did not doubt Dr. Briefs could recreate one.

_Well, Woman, we'll see who has the last laugh._

---------

Bulma inhaled the scent of another beautiful spring day. She'd been visiting an aunt for a few days and had just returned home. As she walked towards her parent's home on the grounds of Capsule Corp, she enjoyed the sun's warmth that promised summer was just around the corner.

She sighed. How many more days would there be like this before the androids came? Then she shook herself. Living in dread wouldn't do anyone any good, and would only give an early victory to the enemy. She just wished she could do more to help. She still thought gathering the Dragon Balls couldn't hurt, but the guys had ixnayed that idea.

There was one thing she could do. Make sure Vegeta lived long enough to fight.

She had never met a more stubborn, opinionated, arrogant jerk. Yet to stop there was to under-appreciate the man. She remembered watching him when Goku had first wished everyone else back to Earth while he stayed behind to fight Frieza. Vegeta's obsession with being the most powerful frightened her at first, but she saw something deeper in his joy at the thought of Frieza's death, something personal. She tried to let her instincts guide her. Hearing his demons as he raved in his nightmares, she knew she'd been right to bring him here. She didn't know his full past, but she knew he was haunted by its darkness. And too proud to show it. A landless, people-less prince used to being lord and master, now beholden to an alien race for his very survival. No wonder he could be so difficult.

Speak of the devil. Vegeta's ship loomed into view. This was a new one. The last one was beyond repair, but Dad had already had another ship built just in case. He'd reinforced it and installed the gravity generator. As soon as Vegeta was well enough, it'd be ready to go. Hmph. He'd love that.

A flash of light caught her eye. For a moment, the spherical glass portals girding the ship glowed, then nothing. Maybe she needed to see the eye doctor. The ship was complete. No one needed to be inside working.

There. Another flash, more intermittent. Bulma dug around her pockets and found her capsule compact. She hoped her air scooter capsule was still inside. Yes! She hit the plunger and poof! Once the scooter expanded, she hopped on, headed towards the ship. Hovering beside one of the portals, she leaned in to look inside. Three battle bots took aim above them. A familiar figure in long black fitted shorts held up his arms, palms up, preparing to counter attack.

She clinched her teeth so tight they hurt. "Stubborn idiot. You won't make it to the androids buddy. I'll kill you myself."

No doubt he had the gravity on full tilt, so she couldn't enter the ship. She tore out full throttle to the one person who could do anything.

----------

"Dad!" She called out in the observatory. "Dad! Where are you?" She found him puttering around a table. "Vegeta's gone into the ship. We have to stop him."

He gave their cat a scratch. "Is something wrong with the ship?"

"No, just that lunkheaded prince. No way he's well enough to be in there training."

"Has he hurt himself again already?" He stroked his chin puzzled. "He was fine this morning."

"That's impossible. He still couldn't sit up when I left without killing himself."

"He has healed up some since then. Amazing recuperative beings those Saiyans."

"Dad, what gives."

He looked down at his shoes, "Well, there is something you don't know yet dear."

Before he could finish, Vegeta strode into the room, a battle bot under each arm.

"Take a look at these, Briefs. They're malfunctioning."

"No you don't, Dad. He won't be needing them or any others." She pointed at the Saiyan. "You are going straight back to bed until you fully recover. The only choice you have is if you stay there willingly or if I have to make something to hold you down."

She expected him to rage. He hated it when she dared to boss the Great Saiyan Prince around. Truth be told, she got a certain kick out of challenging his assumption that all should bow before him. A small pang of disappointed greeted her instead. He didn't yell. He didn't threaten her. He just stared at her, with a smugness that she hoped she'd never see.

"Tsk, Doctor. Haven't you shared the wonderful news with your daughter? Don't be modest. It truly is a great accomplishment for a human."

Her dad looked nervous. "Ahem, I was about to."

"You should be thrilled about this, Woman." Bulma go the sudden feeling Vegeta had no intention of anyone telling her the news except him. This so did not bode well.

The prince moved closer. "I admit, your concerns about my physical state were warranted. So it struck me, if your father could build a gravity room, he could surely build a rejuvenation chamber. Fortunately, we found chemicals here that would suffice."

She wasn't exactly sure what that was, but she didn't like the sound of it.

"And just what does this chamber do?"

"I'm surprised. The word 'rejuvenation' too big for you? You get in, or more often than not are placed in. An oxygen mask is placed over your face. The tank fills with bio fluid that's attuned to the patient's DNA. And there you have it, a body's healed in far less time than it would take under the care of primitive medicine.

"Are you starting to get the picture?"

She was. "So my dad . . . and you went . . . and now . . . ."

His smugness increased. "Exactly."

Her mind for a moment was a jumble, until one thought broke through.

"But--"

"But nothing," he snapped. "Your concerns have been met. You may leave now. My business is with your father."

From that point he ignored her. She had to regroup, even though she hated letting him have the last word. As she exited down the hall, she could think only one thing. He could basically heal himself at will. There'd be nothing to slow down his frantic pace, or temper his obsession, and that couldn't be good.

----------

Bulma entered the lab. It'd been six months since Vegeta had the rejuvenation chamber at his disposal. Her worst fears were coming true. He constantly pushed himself beyond his limits. Her father finally built a gravity room onto a residential annex where he now lived, a room built to take the wear n' tear a Saiyan put on it. Frankly, the grounds crew had grown tired of having to clear away ship rubble. But Vegeta's body wasn't as resistant. He trained now until he could barely stand, if he could stand at all. After every session, sometimes days long, he'd go into the R.C. It hadn't been long before she started noticing his skin had an odd cast to it. He'd become jumpy, snapping at everyone even more so than usual. She'd begun to wonder if the R.C. did more harm than good.

She found her dad by the contraption, tinkering with gauges.

"Dad, I need to talk to you."

"Oh, hello dear. What can I do for you?"

"Take the R.C. apart."

That startled him. "Is something the matter with it?"

"Yeah. It exists."

"I don't think Vegeta would be happy."

She planted her hands on her hips. "I don't care. Right now I'm concerned about his health. I don't know much about this thing, but I have a feeling whoever designed it didn't intend for people to hop in and out of it like a shower."

"Hmm," her father rested his head on his hand. "I can't say I disagree with you there. He does use the chamber more than I'd think wise, and he hasn't seemed himself. However, that could be caused by a number of things. Maybe we should ask Vegeta more about the chamber."

"Oh that will work."

"Now dear, give the young man some credit. He doesn't want to jeopardize his health either. Not to the point where he couldn't fight. Maybe the bio fluid needs tuning. Vegeta would know more than either one of us."

Bulma chewed on her lip. Was she overreacting? "I don't know, Dad. I'm not sure Vegeta's in a rational mindset."

They both turned to the sound of the lab's door sliding open. Bulma gasped. Sweat streamed down Vegeta's sickly grayish skin. He came in bleeding and limping, dragging one leg behind him. His arm hung dead at his side, at an odd angle to his body. He headed straight for them, mumbling to himself. He turned his head back.

"Shut up, I can do it myself."

Bulma looked past him. No one was there.

"Um, Vegeta? Who are talking to?"

He looked at her. "Nappa of course."

Goku had told her about Nappa, Vegeta's once right-hand man. He lost to Goku. As punishment, Vegeta killed him.

Bulma took a good, hard look at Vegeta's eyes. They glistened, almost feverish, as though he saw her and yet didn't. "Where are you going?"

"The rejuvenation chamber."

Over her dead body. If she told him that, though, she'd have a fight to keep him from it. Beat up and half-crazed he may be, but she doubted she'd win. Her dad was right. He wasn't going to be happy, but she had to give herself the best chance possible.

"Okay," she replied, "let me make some final adjustments, then she'll be all ready for you. Meanwhile, let Dad look you over."

He nodded. Her father took his arm to lead him to a chair. She moved next to the R.C. Maybe she could short out the control panel.

She took a quick glance towards them while she picked up a wrench. Vegeta was about to sit down.

"Liar!"

Bulma jumped. Vegeta suddenly had her father by the throat. "You're lying to me! I can smell it. There's nothing wrong with the chamber."

She watched in horror as he threw her father across the room. "Dad!"

Her first instinct was to go to him, but Vegeta was already making his way towards her. There was no time. With every ounce of strength she had, she swung the wrench into the empty tank. On the first swing it cracked. The second swing shattered it, the tinkling sound of glass hitting linoleum music to her ears.

Her euphoria was short lived. Vegeta glared at her, his eyes raving bright. He trembled in a rage she could almost reach out and touch, lightening crackling around him.

She shrunk back. "Vegeta, please. It was for your own good. I swear it."

He said nothing. The flare grew brighter. His eyes held no pupils now, merely white glowing orbs set in a snarling, twisted face. He came closer, a ball of energy growing from his palm. A palm aimed directly at her.

"VEGETAAA!"

Seconds stretched like eternity. Tucked fetal, her arms covering her head, Bulma waited for death. It did not come. Slowly, she uncurled herself. Vegeta lay unconscious in the middle of the tank's debris. Groans came from where her father lay. "You okay?"

"I'll live. I think."

"Just stay still."

Bulma reached the intercom and called for help. Then she made her way to Vegeta. She gently turned him over, cradling the unconscious man in her arms. Stubborn Saiyan. "Vegeta," she sighed, "we have got to stop meeting like this."


	2. Saiyan Love

Simply Irresistible  
Chap. 2  
NCDavis

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or its characters. They belong to the wonderful Toriyama-san. This story is a work of fan fiction and is intended for entertainment purposes only. Please do not send Frieza to destroy my home planet or to sue me.

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Bulma wiped her hands on the apron. She'd worked hard to bring Vegeta back from the brink yet again. Tests run on the blood she'd gathered from his great collapse had proven her theory. Abuse of the R.C. had left him chemically imbalanced and horribly malnourished. She'd shown him the results. He hadn't requested that the chamber be rebuilt. Small victory there. She'd worked out a diet and supplement that would replenish what was lost, and it seemed like he'd made a full recovery. As much of one as he could make given he'd gone back to his blasted training the second he could get out of bed.

At least he stopped to eat. He'd be in for lunch soon. She wasn't much of a cook, but this way she made sure he ate what he needed. What bothered her now was his mental state. He wasn't delusional anymore, but neither was he himself. He was too, well, quiet. He barely spoke a word to her, which wouldn't be odd except it wasn't his usual surly, annoyed silence that met her. There was a sadness about him. If she hadn't known better, she'd've said he was depressed.

----------

He could feel it. There. Just at the tips of his fingers.

"DAMN!" Vegeta collapsed to his knees, pounding his fist into the floor. So close. So damn close. "Why can't I cross the threshold? Why is the legendary Super Saiyan level denied me? I'm the prince. I am!"

_Gravity at 400G. Training bots at level 20. Ready._

He ignored the computer, digging his fingers into the matting. If he couldn't beat Kakarrot, what was the point.

_Training bots commencing exercise._

Yet he had to beat him. He had to. It was his destiny. His father's legacy.

"AAAAGH!" He grabbed a bot by its arm and slammed into the wall. And the next. "I hate you Kakarrot! I hate you!" He crashed another to the floor..

_Warning. External Override activated. Training bots powering down. Gravity level dropping. 350G._

He ripped off their arms as the bots landed around him, ramming them into their circuitry guts. "I want your third class carcass to lie at my feet! Humbled by my hands!"

_150G. 100G. 50G. 1G. Gravity now at normal planetary levels._

He hurled mangled metal bodies, decimating them in a blinding barrage of blasts.

He didn't expect one to scream.

He waited for the dust to clear. A figure emerged.

Unspent rage still trembled within him. Never mind the idiot female could have been injured. The words barely passed his constricted throat.

"Why do you disturb me."

She stared at him. "I--I came to get you for lunch."

He didn't answer, but watched as she gaped at the carnage around her.

"I saw . . . through the door. . . . This isn't training. You've gone mad. You've gone stark mad. I can't believe you'd trash our stuff like this." She picked up a disembodied arm. I brought you into our home because no one else would want you." Her voice strained. "We put up with your demands. We built you a gravity room. We built and rebuilt bots. We've lost nights of sleep indulging you so you could train. And here you are destroying them. Not in training wear and tear, but in a FRIGGIN' TEMPER TANTRUM!"

"Don't start with me, Woman."

She dropped the arm, storming over debris until she stood in his face. "That's all you can say to me?" Fire lit her eyes. "I've saved your Saiyan ass more times than was sane without one single 'thank you'. I've put up with your ordering us around in our own home, and you don't want me to start? You insufferably arrogant bastard."

He caught her hand mid-swing. His muscles were coiled for explosion. He'd killed for less insolence, but something stayed him. Her fury. His rage. The air crackled around him. His breath labored; incensed passion hardened him. He needed a release no destruction would give him.

He took her down to the mat with a sweep of her legs. He pinned her body with his.

Fear. The sudden change in her scent broke through to his mind. He looked down confused.

"Not this, Vegeta," she whimpered.

Human. There were times he forgot. Her body would not know his way. He reached to stroke the hair at her temple. Her pupils dilated; her body relaxed.

Her kind had no tail. But there should be a spot.

"What part of you prepares your body for a male?"

Her eyes widened. "Huh?"

"What part."

She didn't answer, but glanced down. The movement was unconscious, he was sure, but it led him.

He slid his other hand up her leg, beneath her skirt to the juncture of her thighs. Exploring, he found a tiny, hooded nub. Her intake of breath told him all he needed to know. He flicked his thumb across it.

She bucked against his hand. "Vegeta?"

He continued stroking her. A flush covered her face. The nub swelled beneath his touch. His pushed down his garment. Disposed of her underclothes. And joined her.

Her wetted sheath caressed him. Each stroke begged him to thrust again, harder, faster. His loins, heavy, throbbed as the center of his being. He grunted his relief as the coil within him unwound.

His breathing lost the guttural undertone. Calm slowly returned to him. And reason. Of course he'd beat Kakarrot. Super Saiyan was almost in his grasp. He'd just have to train harder.

He removed himself from her and neatly rearranged his clothing. As he got to his feet, he heard a strained sound of protest from the woman. She scrambled to sit up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Frustration shrilled her voice.

"Lunch." He walked toward the door.

"LUNCH! Now?"

He turned around. What little guilt he had pricked at him. He supposed he did owe her something.

"I'll clean up the bots."

"Who gives a damn about them!"

He was puzzled. "I thought you were upset about my making a mess of the training bots."

"Ooooooh! How can you think of bots after, after what just happened here!"

"What are you worked up about. It was just a rutting, though I guess I should thank you."

"Excuse me?"

"For a Saiyan, there are certain kinds of anger or frustration that cannot be relieved even through destruction." He motioned towards the wreckage. "It can be relieved only through the letting of lust. A rutting." He chuckled. "If you'd come along sooner, you may have saved a few bots."

"Oh, don't worry about the bots." She picked up a mangled ball. "I'd worry about yourself!"

He dodged the hunk she'd hurled at him and stepped into the corridor. Another object crashed against the door as it slid shut. Hmph, and she'd scolded him about his temper. Human females left him in complete bafflement. What was she so upset about anyway?

----------

Reading was no use either. Bulma flung the novel across the room and flopped belly first back onto her bed. Outside her window she could hear birds chirping their happiness.

"Oh shut up!"

They stopped for a moment, as if they'd really heard her and took pity, but it didn't last.

She huffed. She shouldn't take it out on them, but Vegeta, as usual, was rarely around to yell at. He could train for days on end, emerging from his training room only to eat and to sleep. Maybe to go to the bathroom. She swore he had the bladder of a jumbo whale. Some part of her still felt he was working way too hard, but she ignored it. Right now, she wanted him to keep right on training till he dropped dead in his sweat socks.

She tried not to think about it, but there were times, right as she fell to sleep, that day would float into her consciousness. In the training room. God, just the memories of how he aroused her made her horny all over again. She'd been building to this incredible brink. And then . . . nothing.

She had to admit to herself that she'd fantasized about what being in bed with him was like. When she first invited him to stay with her family, she'd thought he was cute. Somewhere along the way cute had advanced to sexy. His compact body so muscled. The grace of his movements breathtaking. That bad boy aura so irresistible.

An unfortunate pillow received the punch she wanted to throw at him. How could he get her all revved up and leave her stranded? Heartless bastard. He'd called it a rutting. No duh. Now all her fantasies were shattered. How could a being so otherwise sexual be so bad in bed? Were all Saiyan men like this? How did Chi Chi stand it?

Bulma sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. No. She couldn't accept that what happened was the normal order of things. There had to be more to the story, and dammit, she was going to find out.

----------

She found Vegeta where she hoped, in his kitchen fixing a meal. She stocked his fridge now a couple of times a week so he could eat when he needed to.

She sat down at the table. He'd seen her, but so far hadn't said a word. She could wait.

He sat down with a plated joint of ham. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "We need to talk."

He flinched, and she couldn't help but be amused. Apparently even Saiyan men dreaded that sentence.

"What could we need to discuss."

"For starters, I don't see any vegetables with that ham."

"Hmph."

"Vegeta?"

"Fine."

He shoved his chair back, going to the fridge to rummage. He came back with a bowl each of steamed heads of cabbage and whole squash. He palmed a cabbage and took a bite, one that seemed designed to fill his mouth too much for talking. In this case, she didn't care if he had to talk around his food or not.

She waited till he'd finished about half the cabbage head and was taking a bite from the joint.

"So," she said, "let's talk rutting."

There was a little shred of glee in watching him choke. His glare said he wasn't nearly as amused. "Have you no sense of dignity woman! Saiyans do not discuss such issues at the meal."

"Ha. You mean male Saiyans only talk about it when girls aren't around." That he looked away told her she'd scored again. "Well, we are going to be a first."

He pushed his food away, crossing his arms in a huff. "So much for eating."

"Don't worry, you can finish afterwards. I'll even warm it up for you." She leaned her elbows on the table. "I want a straight up answer. That 'rutting' business. Is that real Saiyan sex?"

"I can't believe human females are this bold."

"They are when they get left hanging. Now answer my question."

"Rutting, as I told you, is a way to relieve stress. No more, no less."

"Oh, you mean like, in the morning, when you're still asleep and your boyfriend rolls you over."

"I wouldn't know. I don't have boyfriends."

She ignored that too. Yeah, it made sense, except one thing.

"So why'd you bother with the foreplay."

He looked puzzled.

"You know, the stroking of my hair," she flexed her fingers, "the manual manipulation in my nether regions."

"A Saiyan female wouldn't have needed it, but I--I sensed I would have injured you otherwise."

She wasn't prepared for that. His caring. Her heart skipped a little beat.

"And it seemed to calm you. You were clearly frightened at first."

"Well, duh, you don't lay a double-leg take-down on a girl and expect her not to be scared. What else is she supposed to think?"

"Else?" He pondered for a moment before he exploded. "It was a rutting, not a rape! I don't need to take females by force."

"Sit down. I don't think you raped me, but for a moment, I wasn't sure what you planned to do. Besides, that's getting a bit off the subject."

"Which is?" He retook his seat.

"Real Saiyan sex."

If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn he was turning pink.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "as you've surmised, rutting isn't the only form of Saiyan coupling."

She leaned in even closer. "Go on."

He started to speak, but then clamped his mouth shut. He got up from the table to lean against the counter, arms still folded in front of him.

The silence stretched on. Bulma could see slight workings of his jaw. He really didn't want to tell her, but she had a feeling it wasn't just because of the topic. His first words surprised her.

"Tell me how I 'left you hanging'."

"Huh?"

He smiled. "You're not the only one who can be direct."

"Fair enough." She took a breath. "Those 'manipulations' of yours is the kind of thing a guy does to a girl to, well, arouse her." She felt her own cheeks warming. "Pleasure her. After that, let's just say rutting doesn't quite keep the promise your fingers were making."

She watched his furrowed brow. He straightened. "Are you trying to tell me I initiated _umuraqh_?"

Now she felt confused. "Oom-myour-rock?"

He winced. "Say it softer, Woman. 'Oom-myur-rakh.' Accent on the second syllable. Hmph, I don't butcher your language."

"What is it, and why do you think you started it?"

Oh yeah, the Saiyan prince was definitely blushing. Damn, where was a camera when you needed one.

"_Umuraqh_ is . . . a deeper level of coupling, meant for more . . . intense mutual fulfillment."

"Whadda you mean 'more.' I don't recall the fulfillment in that rutting business being mutual."

"I keep telling you, a Saiyan female's body would have responded differently! She would have experienced some sort of closure." He relaxed a bit. "In any case, I did not understand that my actions would invoke such a response from you."

"Oh, so you didn't want it to feel good for me." For some reason, that hurt.

He struggled to find words. "I would have liked. . . . Damn. I didn't, as you put it, mean to make promises I had no intention of keeping. There. I've answered your question. I want to eat now."

"Just a moment. So this _umuraqh_ is just your average sex?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"You're lying to me."

"I've never lied to you."

"I know. That's what bothers me. I don't know much about the Saiyan language, but I have a feeling anything you don't translate when talking to me must be pretty unique. Spill it."

Grudging admiration flickered through his eyes.

"To share _umuraqh_ is special, a sign that the two consider themselves mated."

"Like Goku and Chi Chi? Married?"

"No."

"Engaged? Promised to be married?"

He shook his head.

"Seeing each other exclusively?"

"Hmm. Y—Yes, that's closer to it.

"Now, my food."

Bulma got up to warm his supper. He'd actually been cooperative, so she shouldn't push her luck. Of course, "shouldn't" and "wouldn't" were two different things.

"So, do Saiyans get married?"

"Enough!"

"Aw, c'mon. Besides, I haven't warmed your food up yet."

"I'd rather eat cold food in peace than eat warm food in the midst of your incessant nagging!"

"But Vegeta—"

"Get OUT!"

------------------------------

AN: A word about the funny little word that popped up in this chapter. _Umuraqh_ is a word that, to the best of my knowledge, is mine and mine alone. It's a mish-mashing of the Japanese _tsurumu_, "to copulate ((animals); well, he does turn into a large ape))" and the Klingon _ngagh_, "mate with," with my own quirk thrown in (the "q"). Yes, Klingon. Let's face it, how better to describe Saiyans to non-DBZers than to say they're Klingons without the turtle-shell head. Plus, I think of the Saiyan language as having all these lovely, sensual, guttural cadences. Or maybe I just fantasize about Vegeta and Goku too much (you know Goku gives ya a little thrill when he's all mad and SSJ). Anywho, if you think it's worthy to be copied, so be it, but please credit the source.+


	3. Final Stand

Simply Irresistible Chap. 3 NCDavis  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonBall Z or its characters. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and homage to the great characters created by Akira Toriyama. Please do not sue or blast my home world to smithereens.  
  
Key: Double colons ( :: ): Thoughts Asterisks (*): Underline/bold Slashes (/): Italics  
  
AN: Thanks for your patience minna-san! Chap. 4 is coming along nicely as well.  
  
AN UPDATE (4/21/02): Okay, whip me with a wet noodle. As time is wont to do, it has sped by on me. I'm still working on Chap. 4. In fact, I'm writing as we speak on my extra day off from work. Hey, if Rowling can *still* be working on Harry Potter #5, then I can take a few more weeks on my humble li'l tale, right? ^_^ Stay tuned. Re-read the previous installments (which is what we poor Potter-maniacs are having to do to console ourselves).  
  
*******************  
  
Bulma watched Vegeta train through the window in the door. The new bots, equipped with legs as well as arms, seemed to be working well.  
  
But that's not why she was there.  
  
Bulma could barely keep up, his spins, kicks, and punches a blur. Yet she couldn't tear herself away. She marveled how moves could be intricately artistic and powerfully primal at the same time. His intensity frightened and entranced her. She was hooked.  
  
She was in love. And God help her, with that stubborn Saiyan prince.  
  
How she got herself into the mess she couldn't say. But from what her over- thought brain could figure, it was the ensnaring result of one part attraction, one part admiration, two parts concern, and one heaping dose of teeth-knashing frustration. Why couldn't she have stayed in love with Yamcha? Sure, he had a roving eye, but loving him was fairly simple. He was uncomplicated, reasonably well adjusted. Vegeta was definitely not. Yet Yamcha felt like her childhood coat; Something that fit well when she was young, but that she'd outgrown. Loving Vegeta felt like breathing. Inherent. Essential.  
  
The question? What was she going to do about it. Or rather, how was she going to fulfill it. She didn't want to not love him. She didn't want to not want him. But the wanting with no apparent chance to satisfy it would drive her crazy. There was only one thing, if she'd understood their last conversation, that would at least ease the symptoms.  
  
/Umuraqh/. The Saiyan coupling that had no human translation. So daunting. Bulma shook her head. Why was she scaring herself? She could handle lovemaking, even with Vegeta. She was more than rutting material. She was ready for this. But was he?  
  
She continued to watch him in his singular focus. Yeah sure. He just reeked of a guy with sex on the brain. She didn't stand a chance.  
  
= = =  
  
/Umuraqh/.  
  
Vegeta punched, smashing a bot to pieces, while blocking the kick of another. His focus on a battle normally unshakeable, it annoyed him that he couldn't get the thought out his head. Or her.  
  
He should never have contaminated his training ground by rutting her in the room. The scent of her lingered, distracting him. Teasing him. ::This is a mere taste of what true mating could be with her.::  
  
He yelled as a double-hammer blow knocked a bot to the floor. No, he would not mate with her. He was a Saiyan prince. *The* Saiyan prince. She was a nobody, a weakling from a pathetic mud ball planet. She was loud, annoying, disrespectful. . . . She was brilliant, ambitious, cocky. A woman who didn't cower from him even when it did annoy him. A woman who never bored him. A woman whose passions matched his own.  
  
::Gods she'd be incredible.::  
  
"Stop it!" The self-admonishment meant nothing. His body had moved beyond casual relieving of frustrations. She'd triggered his heat, his need to mate. Nothing would cure him of it except her. With her scent so close, he could almost taste her. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise him if he started imaging her before him.  
  
::This is useless!:: "Computer, end program." He landed as the bots powered down, somewhat impressed that the experimental voice controls worked. He double-checked the control panel, glancing absentmindedly towards the door. And stopped cold. It was her.  
  
"AAAAAGH!" Pain seared through his leg. In reflex he twisted his body back and blasted one last bot. Still active?  
  
He landed on his hip, his leg throbbing. Fool! How could he let himself be so distracted to let a mindless machine slip under his defenses? How!  
  
His answer came running in.  
  
= = =  
  
Bulma squeezed through the doorway as soon as a space was wide enough and ran over to help him. "Omigod, what happened?" Are you okay? Here, let me-- "  
  
"It must have malfunctioned." He pushed her away. "I'm fine. I don't need your coddling me. I am not a child!"  
  
Why was she surprised. Yet she was. Even for him, he was gruff.  
  
"Then stop acting like one and let me help you up."  
  
He ignored her and tried to stand. He bit off a word -- probably Saiyan, probably a curse -- as his leg buckled.  
  
"It may be fractured."  
  
"No duh Sherlock," her words were softened by her concern. "So why not let me help this time, 'kay?"  
  
He scooted back before she could even bend down. "Do not touch me!" Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. He was acting like, like he hated her. He'd been mad at her enough. But this? She swallowed a hiccup that felt suspiciously like the beginnings of a good cry. She'd die before she'd let him see her tears.  
  
He looked away from her. "I--I simply don't need any assistance. I am a Saiyan after all."  
  
"You don't need to remind me."  
  
Slowly he pulled himself up, gingerly resting on the injured leg with most of his weight on his other. His breathing was labored, and yet dignity radiated from every inch of him. In spite of herself, she felt pride in him.  
  
::This is what it means to be a warrior?:: She still wondered if much of it was just stubbornness, and yet if it meant that much to him, maybe she could let him have his way. This once.  
  
"Okay, Vegeta. If you think you can make it to my dad's med lab, so be it. I'll call him on the 'com to let him know you're on your way."  
  
As usual he said nothing. Each of his steps shot little stabs through her heart. She never knew not helping him would take so much control. When he finally left the room, she realized she'd been holding her breath.  
  
Once she made her 'com call, she wasn't sure for a moment what to do. Well, she could at least get him a change of clothes.  
  
In love with a Saiyan. God, she didn't think she'd survive.  
  
= = =  
  
"Vegeta," Bulma called out as she entered the med lab, "I brought you some fresh clothes."  
  
"He's not here dear." Her dad came over to greet her.  
  
"Oh no. Did he go to the wrong lab? What if he passed out somewhere? I knew I should've come with him." Bulma let the clothes fall to the floor, turning to race out again. Her father's words stopped her.  
  
"No, no, he was here. He's just not here now. Minor fracture. Said he didn't want a hard cast; it would slow him down. So I wrapped his leg up in a soft one. Probably back in the training . . . . Bulma, are you all right? You're quite flushed."  
  
Her temper rose with every word. She'd been worried the whole time, and he pulls this?? She stomped to the vidcom panel and flicked on the virtual vidscreen in the training room. Sure enough, there that idiot was warming up like nothing had happened, the slight warping of air around him telling her the increased gravity was on.  
  
"I'm--gonna--kill--him."  
  
She was about to give him an earful, but a flash of pragmatism gave her pause. Yelling at him got her nowhere. And frankly, nothing was going to make him flat out stop. However, she could slow him down. A plan took shape. She hit the talk button.  
  
"Vegeta, I need to take a look at the room. Obviously something prevented the bot from shutting down. I need to run a diagnostic on systems before you continue."  
  
That wasn't entirely untrue. She would take a look at the systems. Afterwards.  
  
He ignored her.  
  
"That means, until further notice, the training room is off-limits. Get out, or I'll activate the bots and have them kick you out."  
  
He paused. Good. But then picked up where he left off.  
  
"Vegeta," her words falsely sweet, "let me put it this way. I am your mechanic. I am god and master of your little training world. Don't piss me off."  
  
That got his attention. He glared at her, but she could see in his eyes she'd won. The next thing she saw was a glowing energy ball headed for her. The vidscreen blanked before snow and static took over. But that was okay. She knew he'd be gone; he just hated giving in to her.  
  
Now she could act. ::Bulma baby, you really are a genius.::  
  
= = =  
  
The nerve of her kicking him out his training room! Granted, the bots did need to be examined to verify they worked properly, but surely she didn't need to ban him altogether. He'd take a peek; see if there was a chance he could slip in some training.  
  
He grimaced. Perfect. The prince of all Saiyans reduced to a common sneak.  
  
He eased up to the door, looking through the window. The lights were on, a few bots were lined up along the far wall and the access ladder was down, but he saw no one. He manually triggered the mechanism to slide it open and stepped inside. Excellent.  
  
He was about to check if the control panel in the wall was active when a small sound drew his attention upward. The mainframe and gravity generator had taken up too much room in the ship. When Briefs built the permanent room, he'd placed them in an attic-like space in the domed ceiling. Damn, she must still be up there working. Well, she'd have to deal with it. She'd wasted enough of his time.  
  
After a few moments she made her way down the ladder. Her back was to him. She was in denim shorts, displaying her well-shaped legs. He felt the familiar call in his blood. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, taking slow, calming breaths. He did not have time for *that*.  
  
She jumped when she saw him. "Wh--what are you doing here. I told you, this place is off-limits."  
  
He'd tell her what she could do with her limits. Wait a minute . . . .  
  
"What is that in your hand."  
  
"What that?"  
  
He pointed. "That."  
  
"Oh, just some part I need to look at more closely." She didn't meet his gaze.  
  
"Woman," he warned.  
  
A look of determination settled on her face. "Fine."  
  
She held up the part, an oval disk about two inches thick and a foot across. A red band of metal encircled it.  
  
"It's the gravity generator."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "I don't recall it malfunctioning."  
  
"It's not, but it might as well be, 'cause a certain Saiyan isn't going to need it until his leg heals."  
  
Red swam before his eyes. How could she. How DARE she.  
  
His lips barely parted to allow his words through. "You will put it back and it will function."  
  
She retreated a step, but didn't back down. "No, Vegeta. You can train if you want, but it'll be light training until that bone sets."  
  
He raised an arm, pointing directly at her. Energy tingled on his fingertip. "You will put it back."  
  
Her eyes widened. "Y--You won't shoot me."  
  
He formed a small energy ball. "Presume nothing."  
  
She stared at that energy ball, dancing in the air just off his nail. She lowered the generator. But she did not move. She met his eyes, and the look there made him pause.  
  
"Blast me then. It's the only way you get this back. Won't do you any good though." She pointed at the red band. "This is a locking device and I'm the only one with the code. Don't think my dad can help. He's great at inventing, but deciphering is my specialty. Try to force it, and you'll damage the generator. Lucky for you the generator itself hasn't been damaged in your past accidents. It takes a good month to rebuild one."  
  
What? Deep in her eyes, she was completely serious. Gods, she had more courage than half the so-called warriors he'd met. And even he had to admit her strategy was brilliant. But he couldn't back down. Would not. She had to learn respect. The energy ball wasn't big enough to cause much of an explosion. He could discharge it just to the side of her head . . . .  
  
Floating behind her was a training bot, firing a beam of its own.  
  
She was directly in its path.  
  
Time slowed to the trudge of a glacier. The energy at his fingertip dissipated, replaced by a blast from his palm. The bot exploded, and he watched debris and shockwave slam her into the floor feet from where she'd stood.  
  
In a whoosh of scent and sound time regained its normal motion. The bitterness of singed wire stung the air; embers flickered in death as they fell.  
  
He knelt beside her. Her life force, weakened, remained, but in all else her body lay still.  
  
He'd destroyed civilizations with relish. He'd bedded women in the day and watched them die by his hands in the eve without a twinge of conscience. Yet seeing her, so vulnerable, so fragile, stirred a dreading fear in him he never knew he possessed.  
  
His hand trembled as he reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face.  
  
"Bulma." 


	4. Mating Season

Simply Irresistible NCDavis Chap. 4: Mating Season  
  
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z and its characters are not mine, but belong to Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.  
  
Key: Double colons (::): Thought Plus signs (+): Computer's voice Slashes (/): Italics Asterisks (*): Bold/Underline  
  
AN: Gomen. It's been a while, but at last, ch. 4 is done. Whew! As you may imagine, this wasn't easy to write, though, er, enjoyable nonetheless. Have fun! Heheheh.  
  
****************  
  
How could a head hurt so much? Never mind, it hurt too much to think of an answer.  
  
Bulma opened her eyes, but quickly shut them against the glare. She'd seen enough to know she'd somehow gotten to her room. But wasn't she? Hadn't she been?  
  
Thinking bad, Bulma. Thinking bad.  
  
She groaned, wishing more than anything she could stick her head in the freezer. As if some genie had heard, a shadow fell across her and a cold damp cloth was pressed to her forehead.  
  
"Thank you," she managed to croak.  
  
"I didn't think it possible to crack that hard head of yours."  
  
No way. Her hearing must be messed up too. She forced her eyes open. Vegeta sat next to her on the bed.  
  
"Oh no. I've started hallucinating."  
  
He leaned closer. "What do you think you see?"  
  
"You. But it can't be. The prince of all Saiyans doesn't play nursemaid."  
  
He smirked. "I'm a man of many talents."  
  
This was way more complicated than her brain could handle right now. She tried to raise herself up but failed. "Keep still. You have a mild concussion, some scrapes and bruises, but you'll live."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Another bot malfunctioned. It wasn't fully deactivated and seems to have reacted to my raised energy and was about to fire. I destroyed it. Your father has concluded the voice recognition software is defective. All bots are offline until he can solve the problem."  
  
Bits and pieces were coming to her, though the whole picture was still fuzzy. He'd been furious that she'd removed the gravity generator; she recalled that much. He'd been about to fire at her. She knew he wouldn't have hit her. Probably wanted to scare her.  
  
What stood out most is that he'd saved her life.  
  
"I should thank you for more than a compress, huh?"  
  
His shrug was minimal. He had something on his mind.  
  
"You block me at every turn, Bulma. Why."  
  
She gasped. "You used my name." She was too stunned to answer the whole question.  
  
He grew shy at that, looking off in front of him, but otherwise ignored it. "Answer me. Are you so fond of that clown Kakarrot that you'd sabotage my efforts? Are you still angry for the damage I caused when I first landed on your planet?"  
  
She'd never seen him like this before. Solemn; almost defeated.  
  
"That's not it. You just train so hard. I want you to take better care of yourself."  
  
That seemed to surprise him. He dropped his gaze to his hands.  
  
"What if you one day woke up to find everything you know, everything you take for granted -- your family, Capsule Corp -- gone. But you had one thing left."  
  
Her head still throbbed, but this was crucial to him.  
  
"I guess . . . I'd hold on to that one thing."  
  
"My honor -- as a prince and a warrior -- is all I have. Being the best, the strongest is the only way to hold on to it."  
  
"And training . . . is the only way you can the best . . . ."  
  
She let out a tired sigh. A brief smile flitted across his features, but he said nothing else. He replaced the cloth on her head. The coolness felt so good, so soothing. She closed her eyes. She felt his weight shift from the bed from far away . . . .  
  
When Bulma awoke, her room was dimly lit in the blue-gray of twilight. Vegeta's visit, their conversation, had been real, even if she still felt off-kilter. Something had changed between them. He didn't open up to just anyone. That he had to her brought a smile to her heart. And a decision to her mind.  
  
She reached over to turn on her lamp. As she hoped, a bottle of Zylenol and a glass of water rested on her nightstand. She pulled herself up and grabbed the bottle. She was going to need the pain killer. She had work to do.  
  
/=/=/=/  
  
Force of habit had Vegeta headed for the training room for his evening session clad as usual in nothing more than the short pants the humans called Lycra, socks and laced-up shoes. There were two new additions. The soft cast and a slight limp. He couldn't understand why he was even bothering. He could get no fruitful work done in normal gravity, but neither could he sit and do nothing. He conceded he was unsure he could have gotten much done in heavy gravity with his injured leg, but the choice should have been his to make. Not hers. He supposed he could work on fine- tuning his movements. It was an adjustment, after all, growing accustomed to strength and agility forged in heavy gravity.  
  
As he entered the room, he noted the ladder was still down. Hmph, why hadn't anyone bothered to put it in place? Then he caught the sound of a human's wince of pain. Bulma's. She couldn't be.  
  
"Woman, get down here this instant!"  
  
"I'm done anyway," came her muffled reply.  
  
Her legs appeared out of the hole to the ceiling-bound utility space. She was two rungs down when he heard her hiss, saw her grab at her side. She wouldn't make it the rest of the way down the ladder. He shot up to take her in his arms and brought her to the floor, setting her gently on her feet.  
  
"Who gave you permission to leave your sick bed," he barked.  
  
"Look who's talking." She set down her toolbox. "I'm just bruised. You have a broken leg and I can't get you to sit for five minutes."  
  
"I am a Saiyan. Such injuries are a trifle to me. You, Woman, need your rest."  
  
"Aw, Vegeta." She tickled him under his chin. "I didn't know you cared." He jerked his head away. "I-I don't. I just . . . you need to recover in case something happens to Briefs. You are the only other mechanic."  
  
"Yeah . . . sure." She giggled.  
  
"Stop laughing at me!"  
  
"You know what they say; laughter is the best medicine. Maybe I should stick around. Plenty of material here."  
  
He looked at her more closely. "Just why are you here?"  
  
She walked around him to the control panel. The ladder retracted at the press of a button; a panel slid closed to seal off the attic. Her fingers skipped along a few more buttons, and he heard a familiar sound.  
  
+Gravity increase commencing. Safety measures on and functioning. Gravity level at 1G. 1.5G. 2G. Target gravity level reached.+ She pressed the buttons again and the gravity level returned to normal.  
  
He was too stunned to think beyond one simple point. She had done this. For him.  
  
"I meant what I said earlier, Vegeta. I'm not trying to keep you from your goals. I just want you to live to reach them. But I think I have an inkling now of what this really means to you. It's more than a goal. More than one- upmanship with Goku. It's your honor, as profound and as simple as that. I may not agree with your method; I don't know if I'll ever fully understand, but who am I to stand in your way."  
  
She took slow steps toward him, resting a hesitant palm on his face. "This may not be worth much to you, coming from a weak human female, but . . . I believe in you. And believe it or not, I respect you. You will be a Super Saiyan. You'll always be the prince."  
  
He waited for her to laugh, to prove this was some punch line to a joke he didn't know was being told. Yet she didn't. She stood there, her blue eyes shining up at him. No one had said words like that to him since his father. . . . No one else had cared. . . .  
  
Some warmth, some feeling he'd long ago buried as weakness burst through layers of anger and bitterness as a sapling through the mire. Fragile. Sacred. Did he dare confide it to her.  
  
His skin tingled where her thumb traced his cheek as she pulled her hand away. Tentative trust, old desire swirled through his veins in a heady, combustible blend. A faint whiff of her scent sparked the fire.  
  
He stilled her retreating hand, resting his head once more in her palm, reveling in the heat of her skin. His senses were awakening, sharpening. Her scent, intense, assailed him, tingling his nerves alive. Blood surged in his veins, in his loins. Instinct demanded. He obeyed.  
  
Her pulse beat faintly at her wrist. He yielded to the urge to taste her there. Bliss swirled around him at her intake of breath. Subtle saltiness greeted his tongue; the scent of her skin rose from the heated, dampened point. He sniffed along the length of her arm till he found the bend in her elbow. She tasted as sweet here.  
  
He moved farther, resting his head beside hers. The musky change in her body tinted the air as he nipped and suckled her earlobe. Heat coursed through him. Ancient. Primal. Her soft sound, part sigh, part moan, greeted his own low rumble.  
  
He wrapped his arm around her as she fell against him. He dragged his head away from her ear. Intense, darkened cobalt eyes gazed at him, hazy with desire. With his other hand he cupped her face. She nuzzled his palm. The ritual had begun. He waited.  
  
In some distant part of Bulma's mind she couldn't believe this was happening. /Umuraqh/. She was no Saiyan, but she knew this was it. He'd chosen her as, as a mate. Her. Breath caught in her throat. It felt, he felt, so good.  
  
She cupped his hand still resting against her cheek. His jet black eyes bore into her, but he made no other moves. ::What's he waiting for?::  
  
He lifted his hand from her face, but held his arm near. He still stared at her, as if he were willing her to understand. She focused on his upraised arm. His wrist was level with her mouth.  
  
This had all started with the wrist.  
  
She turned her head, mimicking the path he'd taken up her arm; tasting, nipping her way to his ear lobe. A shiver of seductive power shot through her when she heard him stifle a deep groan.  
  
She pulled her head back, only for a moment, before she yielded to the temptation to kiss him. Her mind barely registered the flavor of his mouth before he jerked away, taking a step back from her. He looked confused, as though she'd just sprouted an extra head. For whatever reason, this radical notion crossed her mind. Naw. No way. And yet.  
  
"C'mon Vegeta," she sounded breathy to her own ears, "don't tell me you've never kissed a girl before."  
  
"Kiss?" He didn't sound too steady either.  
  
She was right the first time. "Yeah, kiss. Lips to lips." She grinned. "Or whatever part suits your fancy."  
  
"Saiyans do not 'kiss'."  
  
"Tell that to Goku. I've seen him slip ChiChi a smooch or two."  
  
"I said Saiyans. Kakarrot abandoned his people and his ways long ago."  
  
She replied, shaking her head, "Only you could blame a baby for getting bumped on the head and losing his memory."  
  
She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. "But I don't want to talk about Goku. I wanna teach you how to kiss."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Shhh." She recaptured his lips with hers; firm, soft lips that sent a happy buzz down her body. He didn't respond at first, but then she flicked the pucker of his upper lip with her tongue. His hug crushed her to him. Now she had his attention.  
  
He began to return her kisses, jerky at first, but he soon learned gentle kneading, the darting of tongues playing hide-and-seek.  
  
"I thought," she panted, "Saiyans didn't kiss."  
  
He was trying to get his own breathing under control, but before she could goad him more the world disappeared behind the wave of her shirt being yanked over her head, forcing her to drop her arms so he could finish removing it.  
  
She was left to stand there, her torso bared expect for her bra. The removal of her shirt left her ponytail askew. She pulled the holder off, shaking her hair out before flipping it out of her face.  
  
She nearly crumpled to the floor.  
  
She'd been admired before, and it was a heady feeling. But this. . . . How could eyes so dark burn with such a fire. They bore through her, focused beams of some feral lust that left her burned and shivered in tandem. They scorched her where they rested. Her lips. Her breasts. The dip of her belly. The joint of her thighs.  
  
Whimpers welled in her throat; moisture gathered between her legs; the first spasm shot through her walls.  
  
His satisfied chuckle refocused her attention from her own fluttering body. Had his flame of black hair always crowned such a firm jaw. Had his muscles always run so taunt beneath his skin; broad shoulders drawn her eyes to such smooth, narrowed hips . . . sculpted flanks . . . straining, swollen cock. . . . Contractions begged for what he held for her beneath his clothes. Sweet God, she was about to come and he hadn't even touched her.  
  
She didn't have time or the thinking ability to figure out how he'd so quickly turned the tables. He was looming over her in an instant, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of her shorts, holding her needy hips to his manhood. He nuzzled her neck near her pulse point. His purr, heavy with his arousal, intoxicated her. Dizzying pleasure tore her as his teeth nicked her skin.  
  
Coherence came and went in flashes. Hot sucking at her nipple. Shimmer of fabric slipping down her legs. Sweat clinging to her skin. Slipping off his shorts. His stomach bucking against her mouth when she teased his navel. Her hips pressed into the mat, jerking as he teased her nub with his cock before sinking himself within her.  
  
Every sinew in her had been pulled up and wound around the axis that throbbed inside her. His sweet hips rocked between hers, heightened by the friction of his soft cast against her thigh, forcing labored pants from her with each motion. A wanton greedy creature beat in her belly that would not stop until . . . until. . . .  
  
Staccato sobs met the pulsing quake of her body. In the wake of their subsiding, euphoria washed over her limp limbs. She was his.  
  
She enjoyed Vegeta's weight for only a moment. He pushed himself off of her, flopping onto his back. He radiated tense frustration, emphasized by his fist pounded into the mat.  
  
Oh no. "Vegeta? Is it your leg?"  
  
He shook his head once; His still aroused body was trembling. "It's not the same."  
  
Sickness snaked through her gut. Had she done something wrong?  
  
"What isn't?"  
  
"Without my tail . . . it's not the same."  
  
His tail? She honestly hadn't expected that. Goku's tail had always been so sensitive. Touching it had caused him more pain than anything else. But then, Goku'd lost his tail as a child. What if he'd had it past puberty. Until he'd become a man.  
  
Vegeta remained on his back, eyes closed, trembling in a sheen of sweat, his fists clinched so hard she was afraid he'd crush his own hands. Apparently, losing your tail post-puberty left one sexually frustrated Saiyan. And what was a human female supposed to do about it? She clucked softly, resting a palm on his chest. The gesture had been half-conscious, meant to offer some scrap of comfort, but the sheer agony in his groan made her snatch it away. ::Think, Bulma. You can't leave him like this.:: Okay, a tail was an extension of the being's spine. Bone. Muscle. Nerves. Maybe, just maybe, she could treat his spine like an inner tail.  
  
She took a deep breath. Even if this worked, her touches prior to it would torture him. If she knew she could make him come, she'd be enjoying herself. But what if she only made it worse? There was only one way to find out.  
  
He had her wrist before the first fingertips grazed his abs. His voice, a drill sergeant bark on a good day, came in a dangerously rasped command.  
  
"Leave me be, Woman."  
  
"Shh. I only want to help."  
  
"Your every . . . intake . . . of breath . . . assails me. Your . . . scent taunts me . . . already over . . . flowing the banks . . . of my self- control. You can't help. You're . . . the problem."  
  
She apologized in her mind for what she was about to do to him.  
  
His grip loosened easily when she pulled her wrist free. She got up, taking a few steps towards his outstretched feet. She didn't have to look at him to feel he'd relaxed that slight bit. He thought she was leaving. In that one moment, she took her chance.  
  
She pivoted, swinging one leg over his hips and bending down in almost one movement. His shocked eyes flew open. She knew what he saw. Her kneeling there. Her turquoise hair playing peek-a-boo with her naked breasts; the same-colored apex of her thighs hovering dangerously close to his rigid, angled manhood.  
  
"No-"  
  
"But Vegeta, what if I'm also the cure."  
  
She sheathed herself around him.  
  
His tortured cry rent the air even as his hips thrust deeper. If she could just manage-  
  
Umph! He'd rolled them. How? She didn't remember him sitting up, but there was no denying the force with which her back met the floor, matted or no. Nor was there any denying the force of his thrusts inside her, each one slamming her already pinned hips. They were wild and untamed. Mindless and desperate, as were his breathy grunts that accompanied each one. She was quickly learning that matting didn't buffer blows well. For the first time, a small trickle of fear went through her, but it was too late to turn back. She'd be one bruised n' sore puppy if this didn't work. Nor did she think his pride would survive. So she had to make sure it did work. She reached around to the center of his back and stroked one finger down the length of spine.  
  
It was as if she'd paralyzed him, except he still quivered beneath his skin. He remained propped up on his forearms, but his thrusts had stilled. He had yet to look up at her.  
  
"Vegeta?"  
  
"Again."  
  
The word was the barest whisper, but it sent her soaring. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.  
  
She complied, enjoying the smoothness of his skin beneath her touch, the vibration of his purr against her belly. It seemed to refocus his desire, remind it of its purpose. He moved within her again with a mingled instinct and control.  
  
He found his favored spot, the pulse-point of her throat; his bite and suck there wrapped her in a second haze of arousal. He pulled her head forward to his shoulder and through her dreamy eyes she drank in how beautiful his muscles played down his back, to his waist, to his . . . tail?  
  
The sight brought her back to her senses. Not his tail, but what remained. A low furry brown stump, long healed over. She knew a Saiyan with a tail was a dangerous thing, a warrior, in the light of a full moon, who transformed into a giant ape-beast capable of massive destruction. She knew at the time Vegeta's tail was severed from him, he'd been in that state, fighting Goku and the others for control of Earth, and the only thing that saved her friends was its loss. But she had scant memory of what he'd looked like with it in his humanoid state, a brief glimpse when the media had tried to televise the beginnings of the battle, when he'd wrapped it around his waist, proud and assured. Part of her mourned for it.  
  
Her fingers ached to touch what remained, partly in longing and partly to see if she could fulfill with the stump what he normally fulfilled with his full tail. Gingerly, she stroked its base, marveled at the silkiness of his fur. He bucked with a short gasp of surprise. She stroked it again.  
  
"Wo-man," he rasped.  
  
She smiled, wicked pleasure surged through her. At the tips of her fingers she held the power to make him beg. The knowledge was primal. She had ever intention of using it. She rounded the stump with the full length of her fingers. She felt the quake snake through his body. She yielded to her own urge.  
  
"Say my name."  
  
"W-W--?"  
  
"Tsk. Wrong answer." She lightly raked the same path with her fingernails. The buck that followed scooted them a good six inches up the mat.  
  
"Whoa, baby," Bulma whispered, continuing to swirl the top of his stump with her fingertip, "I just want my name. C'mon, you've said it once."  
  
He pushed her upper body back down to the floor. He locked his gaze with hers. He was growling now through gritted teeth, bass-laced vibrations that came from deep in his gut, yet held an undertone of whimpers. A word was forming, she could tell. Would he?  
  
"Woman."  
  
Every ounce of defiance he had was held in that word. Even on the verge of an orgasm, he was still playing Prince of the Saiyans.  
  
She felt her own stubborn streak rising, mingling with her reawakening lust. So help her, she'd be sore tomorrow, and the way his thrusts were pounding and grinding her back, with a few mat-burns for good measure. She began to wonder; would it really be worth it just to know for one moment, for one night, she'd made that proud, arrogant Saiyan prince her bitch?  
  
Oh hell yeah.  
  
She locked her ankles around his hips and took a deep breath. This was gonna be a doozy. Reaching, employing her fingernails again, she synchronized each graze with a contraction of her walls. And matched with the potent combination, spoke each sentence in drumbeat repetition.  
  
"Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. . . ."  
  
He was fighting, she could sense it, hear it in the strained hum coming form between his lips. But the whimpers were overpowering the growl. He was losing.  
  
"Wo-Wob-B-B-Bu-mmm-Bul-maaaAAAAAH!"  
  
His head fell back as he slammed and shuddered into her, one wave after another, long after her own orgasm came and left. He began to subside, horse cries sending the last of his ecstasy into oblivion. He collapsed on top of her, pressing her sweaty back and hips to the matting. She winced. Forget being sore tomorrow. She was sore right now.  
  
He must've felt it, because he shifted his weight off of her, gently scooped her up, and cradled her with her back against his chest. She was stunned. Did Saiyans spoon?  
  
He wasn't just holding her though. He was lapping the tip of his tongue against the bite he'd left on her shoulder, then the ones on her neck. He was . . . he was tending to her wounds. Such an affectionate gesture she would've never expected. It brought a smile to her face.  
  
He finished his task, nuzzling her ear as he pulled her closer to him, resting his leg between hers. She lay there, feeling tiredness creep on her as his own breathing settled into the measured rhythm of sleep. She wanted to join him, but her mind wouldn't shut down as easily. It was too revved up on the euphoria of their joining, and bothered by small thoughts prodding randomly in the background. Where did they go from here. . . . They hadn't had protected sex. . . . What if. . . .  
  
She squeezed her closed eyes even tighter, snuggling further into his arms for comfort. No, she wouldn't think about regrets or repercussions. Not now. That's what morning afters were for. 


	5. Trouble In Paradise

Simply Irresistible  
  
NCDavis  
  
Chap. 5: Trouble in Paradise  
  
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z and its characters are not mine, but belong to Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.  
  
Key:  
  
Double colons (::): Thought  
  
Plus signs (+): Computer's voice  
  
Slashes (/): Italics  
  
Asterisks (*): Bold/Underline  
  
AN: She's baaack. The lag wasn't all my fault, with FF.net having server problems, but I have had to put my fanfic on the back burner. So I offer what would've been the first half of the final chapter as a chapter of its own as a bit of a fix. However, I have to re-submerge myself in deadlines and commitments at least till the middle of August, which means I doubt I'll get the next chapter up till late Aug. or Sept. What can I say? Life sucks sometimes.  
  
It'll be interesting to see what y'all think of this one. I'll say upfront I've always felt these two exchange places in the maturity dept. Sometimes Bulma's in the lead; sometimes Vegeta. Well, usually Bulma's in the lead, but we all have our bad days. And when it comes to emotions, Vegeta often reacts as good -- or as bad -- as he thinks he's gotten. Besides, what's fanfic without a good dose of angst.  
  
Hope this one eases the cravings.  
  
AN UPDATE 8/5/02: Hiya. I've been reading the reviews, and I'm glad y'all like what you've read. If you haven't read it yet, skip this note and come back.  
  
A lot of you have asked, "Doesn't she want the baby? I thought she was in love with Vegeta." I'm not going to go into long explanations here; Bulma will speak for herself in the next chapter. But knowing I have readers who are younguns, I feel I need to say this much. Call it an Auntie N moment. Bulma is in love with Vegeta. Being in love doesn't automatically mean being happy if you think you're pregnant, or find out you're pregnant. Being in a secure, loving, permanent relationship doesn't mean a woman will be happy to be pregnant. Sometimes, the feeling of unhappiness is resolved; sometimes it isn't. This is a simple fact of life. The whys, or why nots, are as distinct as the couple in the situation. I rate my stories R or NC-17 for sexual situations, but I also rate them these because I'm dealing with complex adult relationships. A lot of times, adults spend a good deal of time in relationships just being confused. :-)  
  
****************  
  
Warm breezes washed softly over Bulma's body, the sunshine adding to the lulling affect of the day. She lay on a blanket on a section of lawn tucked away from most of Capsule Corp.'s compound. Her body felt drowsy; unfortunately, her mind refused to follow suit.  
  
It'd been a month since they'd made love. In her heart of hearts she'd never regret it, but she'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't concerned. Funny. She never thought twice after that rutting episode. Maybe that was another difference between rutting and mating. The latter is what could get you pregnant.  
  
The "P" word is what had kept her up more nights than she could count. She was late, but ironically enough that could be caused by the stress of wondering if she was pregnant or not. And by the stress of avoiding Vegeta. The first week had been easy. She hurt if he'd looked at her. She smiled. It'd been worth it. Still she begged a time-out just to recover and he'd agreed. Afterwards, he'd gotten back into his training regimen, though he'd been good about taking it easy on his injured leg, staying out of the gravity room till a few days ago. Well, he'd also been waiting for Dad to steam clean and re-upholster the room. He'd requested it. He hadn't told her why, though she would've sworn she'd heard him mumbling something about "damned scent" and "distraction."  
  
Whatever the case, she'd never been so happy to see him disappear into the training room. No one knew what worries flew around her head. Her mom glanced at her from time to time. Somehow moms knew when something was up with their kids, but she had yet to come out and ask. Her dad didn't look for trouble and so didn't find it. But Vegeta would know something was bothering her, and he wouldn't stop asking until she told him. Frankly, she wasn't ready to talk. Exhaling a long breath, Bulma reminded herself she was supposed to be relaxing.  
  
"Why the sigh, Woman."  
  
Bulma's heart and stomach jumped, settling clumsily back into their right spots once she spotted him, in his usual shorts and tank, lying beside her in the grass. Speak of the devil.  
  
"You almost gave me a heart attack sneaking up on me like that. Where did you come from anyway? I didn't hear a thing."  
  
"Of course you didn't," he snorted, as if she'd been daft to suggest otherwise.  
  
"Well excuse me, oh mighty warrior."  
  
"Hunter."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Today, I am 'oh mighty hunter'."  
  
Bulma stared at him. Was he trying to be . . . playful? "Just what are we hunting?"  
  
His grin turned wolfish. "You."  
  
In one fluid movement he lay atop her, his legs straddling her closed ones. She mentally cursed the ache that uncurled inside as his hips pressed into hers, as his mouth came down to hers. She wanted it, but she didn't need this right now. At least, she didn't think she did. Thinking was hard with him kissing her like that. . . .  
  
::Pregnant.::  
  
The thought ripped through her haze, questioning and warning in one blow. She couldn't do this. They couldn't do this.  
  
He broke contact for a moment; she seized it. "Hey, Vegeta, do you know what I really want?"  
  
The lust that flared in his eyes told her he was in for one whale of a disappointment.  
  
She took a deep breath. "To go flying."  
  
To her surprise, he laughed. "I don't think I've done it *that* way before."  
  
Men. She swatted his shoulder. "Nooo, I mean I want to go flying. Without the extra-curricular activity."  
  
He studied her, his brow a bit furrowed, then he simply shrugged. "Very well. Afterwards."  
  
He tried to kiss her again, but she held him off. "Now."  
  
He touched his forehead to hers and whispered, "An Earth month is a very long time to a Saiyan in heat."  
  
Heat? He'd been in heat? Oh God. And she was slowly joining him. She needed more time. "But I've never been flying for real. Gohan and Yamcha only took me when we were running from someone. Or when we needed to get from Point A to Point B. I want someone to whisk me off just for the thrill of it." She cupped his face. "Please?" She held her breath, waiting for his response.  
  
Moments dragged by. He lifted his head. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
= = = =  
  
It was nothing she thought it would be and everything she dreamed. She'd had no particular destination in mind; she just wanted to go. Open fields, lakes, trees whizzed beneath her in a carnival blur of colors and shapes. It was the best convertible top-down ride and roller coaster she'd ever been on, but there was no car, no tracks to bind her to the ground. The winds caught her hair and slid across her outstretched arms as if it'd been waiting for her all along. An adrenaline high; a freedom high. His arms re- secured his hold around her. A Vegeta high.  
  
He'd actually put her wants ahead of his. That one still stunned her. But she'd tucked it away for further review. She wasn't sure what it meant, but it was a good thing. Maybe even a good omen. Maybe everything would work out after all.  
  
"Bored already?"  
  
She glanced backwards at Vegeta. Had she been that deep in thought? Never mind. "Yeah, I am bored. You've got a one-trick pony here."  
  
A wicked grin spread across his face. "That's what you think."  
  
= = = =  
  
Vegeta couldn't help but chuckle at the woman's squeals as he barrel rolled another dive. Most of her kind would be screaming in fear, but not his Bulma. She was having the time of her life. So was he, but he slowed down over a wooded area divided by a stream. He had even better ideas for a good time. He brought them in for a landing.  
  
"Hey, what gives?" The woman whirled around, hands planted on her hips, just moments after they touched down  
  
"You got what you wanted." He stroked his thumb across her lips. "I get what I wanted."  
  
That got her attention. For a moment, she looked like a trapped animal and he wondered again at her stalling tactic. He knew that's what this flying business had been about, but realized a direct assault wouldn't work. And he admitted the thought of giving her something that damn fool Yamcha hadn't pleased him. His first sense was to press his advantage. She was on unfamiliar ground. She was still flustered from their flight. Yet he couldn't wholly override his desire for her to tell him what bothered her of her own free will.  
  
Nor could he help using her startled moment to enjoy the sight of her. The wind had left her hair a wild blue mane. The color was high in her cheeks and down what her shirt allowed him to see of her chest. Her breasts seemed rounder; All of her was full, lush.  
  
Stalling be damned.  
  
Anticipation tuned his senses as he lowered his head to kiss her. Opening himself to read her life force would heighten their sex even more, the growing waves of her desire would echo within him, adding an exquisite layer of pleasure. He'd have to teach her to sense him the same--  
  
Wait, what was that. He paused, shifting all his attention to her energy signal. There it was again, faint, yet distinct. Another life force, fluttering with the adrenaline still flowing through her veins. Fluttering in what would be her womb.  
  
The revelation knocked him to his knees. He heard sounds come from her mouth, but he could understand no human language. Only the tiny being spoke to him. He was to be a father. No mind, no heart could fully comprehend such joy. Not even his own.  
  
He became aware that his shoulders were being shaken. He looked up into her concerned face. Why had she not told him? Or was she herself not yet aware? Perhaps not. But -- everything clicked -- she'd been suspicious. Of course, she'd wanted to be sure. He could assure her right now.  
  
"You're with child."  
  
Bulma froze. Her stomach had sunk along with Vegeta. She'd never seen him go down like that, and then he hadn't answered her. And now, here he was, saying with that damned certainty of his, the one thing she'd been afraid of. The one thing she'd been worried he'd figure out. Dammit, dammit, dammit.  
  
She wasn't ready for this. Maybe she could play it off. "What are talking about?" She winced inside at the tremble in her voice. She had to control that. "What child?"  
  
He stood up, unadulterated happiness lacing his laugh. She'd never heard him this happy, except for the time he'd thought Goku and Frieza were dead, leaving him the strongest warrior in the universe. She never fully bought he'd be happy at Goku's death. It was more a love/hate thing, and Goku was the only other full-blooded Saiyan left. They were like bickering brothers, though not many other brother's arguments could leave the planet quak--  
  
Hmph! Bulma found herself flush up against Vegeta's body, pinned there by one of his arms, ending her mental ramble. Closest thing he had to a hug. She could feel him smiling.  
  
"He'll be strong, Bulma. A truly noble warrior. And I suppose it won't hurt if he has some of mother's brains."  
  
Oh God, he'd be testing names next. He couldn't know, could he?? She wasn't really, was she?? Everything suppressed the past few weeks erupted inside her. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. She couldn't . . . it didn't . . .but what if . . . . "NO!"  
  
"Bulma? What it is? Your pulse is racing."  
  
"Stop it!" She shoved him away. She couldn't not scream. She couldn't stop tears from welling up. She could barely breathe. She couldn't even see anymore; the world was just a bleary, scary haze she wanted to go away. "Stop talking like that! You can't know anything! I'm just late, that's all; I'm just late. There is no baby, Vegeta. Do you hear me?! There is no baby!" She sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees just to stop them all from shaking. "God, what would I do with a baby anyway? And half-Saiyan. . . ."  
  
Everything was silent, shattered only by her sobs. Her fingernails bit into her palms, but it hurt less than heart. What was she going to do now.  
  
"I see."  
  
Her head snapped up. It was like another man stood there. The voice had been so warm, but now so brittle. And his eyes -- Bulma sucked in her breath -- he looks like his soul had been sucked straight to hell. His name barely passed her lips: "Vege--"  
  
"You don't want a Saiyan child. That's too bad." He knelt in front of her, a cruelty twisting his mouth, the same cruelty lost worlds must have seen before he destroyed them. "You are having this child woman, and you will do everything in your power to insure its safe and healthy delivery."  
  
Her shock-worn body had no defense against his fury. She sat there, numb, while he stood up and walked away.  
  
He stopped a few feet from her. "If it's any consolation," he kept his back to her, "I also find the situation . . . less than ideal. After all, I have had to sire my royal *Saiyan* offspring on a human bitch."  
  
He flew off without a backwards glance. 


	6. And in the end

Simply Irresistible  
  
NCDavis  
  
Chap. 6: "And in the end. . . ."  
  
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z and its characters are not mine, but belong to Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.  
  
Key:  
  
Double colons (::): Thought  
  
Plus signs (+): Computer's voice  
  
Slashes (/): Italics  
  
Asterisks (*): Bold/Underline  
  
Text between two rows of colons (:::::::::) is flashback  
  
AN: Well, it's been a pleasure. This is bittersweet in a way. I have other ideas for B/V fic, but this one's been with me for awhile. Sad to say goodbye to it. I just hope the close does those two wacky kids justice. Enjoy.  
  
**************************  
  
Bulma sat at her dresser lost in thought as she brushed out her hair. Straight it hit the bend of her arms. She really was going to have to cut it before the baby came, otherwise the kid would have a field day with it.  
  
The baby. She placed her free hand on her lower belly. She wasn't showing yet, but she could feel the bulging of her womb and -- she smiled -- the faint flutter of her little one. It was amazing what that flutter had done to her when she first felt it. It centered her, and in a lot of ways relieved her. It was real, and in accepting the reality, she'd squared her jaw to fate. Looking back on the would'ves and could'ves was pointless. She could only move forward. She'd be okay. There was only one problem. A shudder ran through her. One of the few times she'd known Vegeta to be purely happy and she'd gone and yanked his heart out. And when she'd gotten up the nerve to explain. . . .  
  
::::::::::::::::::::  
  
Bulma circled the clearing as she brought the one-man Capsule-copter in for a landing. Farther downstream her target sat immobile. There'd been no point in talking to Vegeta while he trained and she needed to talk to him uninterrupted.. She suspected he kept watch on her, but he avoided direct contact like the plague. Her usual stake-outs in his kitchen proved fruitless, but she also knew there were days he left Capsule Corp. She'd tried tracking him the electronic way with no luck. Now, she tried women's intuition. Something in her told her he'd come back here to the scene of the crime, so to speak, back to the place they'd been the happiest and the most crushed all in a minute's breath.  
  
She got out of the copter and shrunk it back into its capsule. Even though he must have heard her, he hadn't flown off yet. A good sign. Her heart pounded loud in her ears as she approached him. He looked every inch the prince even out here, arms and legs crossed as he sat on the grassy bank, eyes fixed on the running stream in front of him. Whatever birds were around were silent, no insects chirped, as though all of nature paid him reverence. So much so that she kept her distance when she called his name and waited for permission to come closer. None came. Like that had ever stopped her before.  
  
"Vegeta, I know you hear me, and if you didn't want to talk to me, I'd be eating your dust right now." He still didn't move. He didn't even blink, but she supposed his not moving was the best invitation she was going to get.  
  
Great, so now she had his attention. What was she going to do with it? All her well-planned, sophisticated speeches flew right out of her head. What she was left with felt so inadequate, but it would have to do. Or at least be a place to start.  
  
"I'm sorry, Vegeta. I know that sounds lame, but I am. You'd never admit it in a million years, but I know I hurt you and that's tearing me up inside. I wish I hadn't; I wish you'd never seen my mega-watt meltdown. I wish I could stand here and tell you I was just hysterical, but we both know I'd be lying. I was scared. Scared of the responsibility of being a mom. Scared of your surety. I don't know about Planet Vegeta, but around here the only guy that sure about your pregnancy before you are is your ob./gyn. But you were so confident. God, I think that terrified me most. In a lot of ways I'm still shaking. I'm about to do something only one other woman on the face of this planet has ever done. Give birth to a Saiyan. And I know you don't think much of Chichi, but she's way stronger than me. Not to mention being clueless about the difference. Whoever 'they' are, they're right. Ignorance is bliss. She didn't know what symptoms were normal for a human and what weren't. Hell, she didn't even flinch at the super kicks Gohan was throwing her, not till her last month anyway. They started doubling her over then. Her. Chichi. The same girl who challenged Goku in a tournament."  
  
She took a deep breath; she couldn't lose it now. Or let him know that she envied what Chichi *did* know. That her man still loved her. "What I'm trying to say is every pregnancy is different. Even if I knew every little thing Chichi had gone through, even in the best scenario, there are so many unknowns here, more than there would be if the baby were 100% human. That's what I meant about half-Saiyans. What I never, ever meant is that I regret you're my baby's father."  
  
The silence that followed felt like a clamp around her. She waited for him to move or yell or even laugh in her face. Nothing. . . .  
  
::::::::::::::::::::  
  
Bulma climbed into bed, her thoughts as tumultuous now as they'd been that day. The nothing, as far as she was concerned, was the worst case possible. Turning out the light, she struggled to fight back the one inkling blacker than the night around her. Whatever emotion drove him to choose her, whatever love he was capable of had died, and it was her own stupid, stupid fault.  
  
/=/=/=/  
  
Her hair had been made for moonlight.  
  
Vegeta immediately kicked himself for entertaining the thought. He was not here to take in how beautiful Bulma could be while she slept. He was here merely to keep watch, as he'd done every night the past two months, to insure no harm came to the child she carried. That was all.  
  
::Liar.::  
  
He ran testy fingers through his upswept hair. All right, so this night was different. And each one before till he reached that afternoon she'd found him by the river. He hadn't wanted to hear her excuses, but hearing them in that moment became lifeblood to him. He'd been tortured, wanting her and wanting to hate her. Hating her would make life return to blissful normalcy, allow him to refocus on his mission. Just when he thought the later was in his grasp, his damned curiosity got the better of him. He let her find him, let her blab on about her weaknesses, and despite having let her crush the newly minted, fragile trust he'd given her, he was mad enough to believe her. He was mad enough to think of rebuilding it and giving it to her again. So he sat here on the edge of her bed, night after night, waiting for something in her unguarded visage to betray her darker intention.  
  
Damn her. He found nothing.  
  
He buried his face in his hands. He'd lost his edge. No, he'd given it away with that stupid thing of trust. He was a warrior, a Saiyan. He should wait till the brat was born then take him and the old gravity ship and leave. But then, who would tend to it? Saiyan fathers didn't bother much with the daily rearing until the child was old enough to train. The only other woman who had the right experience was that idiot female Kakarrot had chained himself to, and look what a sniveling brat she'd almost turned her son into. He shuddered. No, he'd seen enough to know at least Bulma would raise no cowards. Very well, he'd stay. Besides, the training room was superior to the rigged ship. And those were the only reasons.  
  
Gods, who was the coward? The truth . . . the truth was he wanted to stay for her. He sighed. He was beyond hope.  
  
"What's wrong, Vegeta?"  
  
What? He turned his head towards the voice to find her awake and watching him, a furrow of worry etched in her brow. Why did she have to be concerned for him? "Nothing. Go back to sleep." He stood up to leave, but she sat up and caught his arm, pulling him back down to the bed. He could feel the desperation in her touch.  
  
"Not until you talk to me. Don't you think it's time?"  
  
Yes. No. Why did she have to put him on the spot like this. "I did talk to you. I told you to go back to sleep. As usual, you ignored me."  
  
She stared at him, her mouth open slightly before it began to quiver. Tears edged her eyes. Next thing he knew he had a bundle of sobbing Bulma flung into his unsuspecting arms. *Now* what was he supposed to do? He knew pregnant females could be emotional, but this? "Gods, woman, you're getting me wet. Get your hormones under control."  
  
She pulled back, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and damn it, she was smiling. "I'm sorry, it's just it's been so long since you've been gruff with me that way. It's the sweetest thing you've said to me in weeks." Then she shook her head. "Damn, my hormones *are* out of control."  
  
"How can you tell."  
  
"Vegeta!"  
  
Hmph. She was right. The familiar had sprung up out of nowhere. Perhaps they had a chance. The distance needed more than bantering, yet sometimes the biggest step was the dealing with the smallest obstacle. Hadn't she tried the other day when she apologized to him? "Bulma . . . about that day . . . when I realized you were with child . . . I didn't mean what I said, what I called you, before I flew off."  
  
She replied, "Yes you did."  
  
Of all the. . . . "I'm in the middle of apol--offering a peace to you, Woman. You should be grateful. Or are you incapable of understanding the honor?"  
  
She crossed her arms. "Well, excuse me, let my grovel myself to the great prince."  
  
"Maddening female."  
  
"Egotistical jerk."  
  
He was about to reply; she about to cut him off, when they caught each other's eye. He suddenly saw it the same time she did. They chuckled, more from embarrassment than humor. Yes, it was quite familiar.  
  
She spoke first. "We're hopeless."  
  
He shrugged. "It is our way."  
  
"Yeah? People with our way usually wind up seeing a marriage counselor. Except we aren't even married. Wonder if there are sessions for couple like us. Advanced Neuroses With Your Live-In 101."  
  
And there was another bump in the road. "Have you forgotten what I showed you?"  
  
"About?"  
  
"/Umuraqh/."  
  
She thought a moment. "No. In my way of thinking you're either engaged or walking down the aisle. I'm just not used to the in-between. "  
  
"And?"  
  
She lowered her head. "I wasn't sure you still wanted it with me."  
  
That was it. What doubts he had, the raw pain in her voice quelled them. Maybe he wasn't so mad after all. "Look at me, Woman." She shyly complied. "I'm only going to say this once. What we shared is not quickly given, nor quickly taken away. As . . . angry as I was, it would take much more than that for me to sever our mating. By that point, I'd probably kill you first."  
  
Her eyes grew a fraction wider. "Let me guess. Betrayal. Adultery. Things Saiyans don't handle very well."  
  
"Exactly. Things I honestly don't believe you're capable of." He could see her blush even in the muted light and he couldn't resist teasing her. "Don't tell me I've actually managed to leave you speechless."  
  
"Hmph."  
  
No, not so mad.  
  
A few seconds passed before she spoke again. "It is true, you know." Her mouth curved into a depreciating smile. "You did mean it that afternoon. Because I'd hurt you. Never let it be said the Prince of the Saiyans doesn't give a good as he gets, eh?" She reached up to stroke his face. "But I know you don't mean it now."  
  
There were no signs of mirth in her eyes and what her words really meant utterly amazed him. She'd already forgiven him. Before he'd come here, before she'd found him that day.  
  
He realized he was gaping at her and she was enjoying her turn at smugness. He needed a change of topic. "What symptoms have you been having?"  
  
"Huh? Oh," she shrugged as if she knew what he was doing, "you mean with the baby. What I don't have is morning sickness. Chichi said that happened with her too. Or didn't happen."  
  
"Morning sickness?"  
  
"Yeah, nausea. Sometimes vomiting. Always a fun surprise."  
  
"How impractical."  
  
"You can't tell me Saiyans don't throw up. It's a body's defense mechanism."  
  
"We can control the reflex. How vulnerable to be hunched over in a bush during a battle."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I should've known. Anyway, I do get tired easily. Not to mention those cravings."  
  
"For?"  
  
"Ice cream. Bananas. Boy, do I go for the bananas, and. . . ."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And . . . other weird pregnant woman stuff. It can boggle the mind. Chichi said she was gaga for chocolate-covered pickles for a week."  
  
He frowned. He could hear the deception in her voice. "I have no concern for what Kakarrot's mate wanted. Tell me what you want."  
  
She became overly fascinated with the edge of her sheet. "Nothing odd. Just steak."  
  
That had his full attention, and he believed he knew where it was headed. "And how do you like your steak?" Normally, she liked it what she called medium.  
  
"Funny, I've been liking it rare lately. I never used to like it that way. I know you do. Maybe the kid has his dad's taste?"  
  
He raised her chin with the crook of his finger and held her gaze. "But it's not enough, is it." The flicker there told him the answer.  
  
"S-Sometimes, I like it raw . . . but a lot of people like raw meat. Beef tartar is legend."  
  
He wondered whom she was trying to convince more. "Your mother made some once. Not bad, but it lacks a certain something. Then again, all your store- bought meat lacks a certain something."  
  
"I don't know what you mean."  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
She was shaking now. "It's not normal."  
  
"For whom? Humans? Perhaps not, but as you said, perhaps the brat has his father's taste." He leaned in closer. "Then no doubt so does his mother."  
  
"And the smell, Vegeta," she whispered, lost in her admission. "Even when it's alive, the smell sends shivers up my spine. We went on a picnic last week -- just the family -- up in the hills. This deer crossed the clearing. My folks oohed and ahhed . . . and all I wanted was to hunt it down for the kill."  
  
The bloodlust glittered in her eyes like jewels. Magnificent. "You desire what you need, Woman, you should not deny it."  
  
She tried to break the spell. "That's what they make iron pills for."  
  
He pulled his hand away and brought the pad of his thumb to his lips. "No pill can give you this." He placed it between his teeth and broke the skin.  
  
Her eyes darkened the moment she saw his blood. He held his hand out to her, ached as her tongue lapped at the wound, as her mouth closed round it and sucked with greed at his offering. He gathered her into him with his free arm, nuzzling the scent of her hair, her skin, the scent of her blood pulsing beneath. Tomorrow he would hunt for her. Tonight, he would be the feast.  
  
The sucking on his thumb stopped. He pulled back to find her staring at the trickle of blood sliding down it as though what she'd been doing the past few moments had just dawned on her.  
  
Her breath came hard. "Tell me this doesn't last the whole pregnancy."  
  
He wiped his hand against his leg. "Was it so bad?"  
  
"N-No . . . it's just weird. I mean, that pink shirt fits, but would you like to wear it every day?"  
  
He could see her point. "The craving should subside soon. Meanwhile, I'll get fresh game for you. Come to think of it, I haven't had to hunt for a while. Should be fun."  
  
She shook her head at that, then frowned. "It's still bleeding." She scrambled off the bed. He could hear her rummaging in the adjoining bathroom, and after a few moments, she reappeared with dressings. Neither said anything as she tended to his wound, though he sensed a tension in her. He would wait for her to break the silence.  
  
He didn't have to wait long. Her "thank you" came on the barest breath. "For?"  
  
She waited until she finished with the bandage. "For taking care of me."  
  
"Always."  
  
"And for forgiving me."  
  
"I had no choice." In truth, he didn't.  
  
Her eyes searched his. "Then we'll be okay?"  
  
"Mm-hmm." They would be more than okay, he thought, as he drew her up against him, pressing her body into his chest. What they shared was more than familiar. He knew in his deepest primal instinct their union was part of his destiny. They . . .they were inevitable. Irresistible.  
  
"You know," she said, "there is a beautiful moon out tonight. We should go flying."  
  
The allusion was not wholly lost on him. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
She wrapped her arms and legs around him, giving him a soft peck on the lips. "I don't want to 'go' anywhere." She smiled up at him. "I've just never done it that way before."  
  
=End= 


End file.
